Tempest
by Your Tomodachi
Summary: Before she was Saber, before she was King, she was Arturia and she never wanted to rule. Never wanted to pull the sword from the stone... Until fate forced her hand.


Note: This is a retelling of Saber's history a few years before she becomes King. I have watched the animes, read (most of) the visual novel and done a bunch of real-world research so if you have any questions on why I did things in this story, feel free to ask me! :) Also thanks to my beta Kiiroi Senko!

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"And then what happened?"

"I told him no." She said calmly. Her hands were perfectly folded in her lap as she sat patiently in the cold steel chair. They had tried to make it seem less intimidating by putting a lamp and a glass of water on the table but it was hard to ignore the cameras in the corner of the room and the team of special forces right outside the door. "I told him I didn't want to be King."

The group of people behind the one-way mirror seemed shocked. A few started whispering to their colleagues. She couldn't see them of course but call it a sixth sense, she could tell she had raised a few eyebrows.

"So you refused to pull the Sword in the Stone." The man questioning her continued. "What changed your mind?"

This time she hesitated. The man said nothing, only waited for her to speak. She looked around the room, first at her reflection in the mirror, then at the blinking red light on the cameras, and lastly at the face of her interrogator. He was an older man, wearing a comfy looking sweater vest and loose pants. She especially enjoyed the glasses he wore, they kept sliding down his nose every time he glanced at his notes.

He had been very accommodating and polite. He asked easy questions first, things like the weather and the environment, before moving on to politics and religion. Gradually he began to ask her more personal questions. Each one harder to answer than the last.

But he was patient. And patience should be rewarded right?

She sighed. "It's a long story."

* * *

**Tempest**

"_Before I was a king, I was a knight. And before I was a knight, I was an apprentice. And before that I was a shepherd."_

* * *

Arturia danced back from the blade, lifting her left arm up to block the next blow. Her wooden shield caught the strike, her arm reverberating from the impact. She stepped forward, the metal heavy in her hand, hoping to attack him with a lunge but he was too fast.

The next thing she knew her sword had been ripped from her fingertips and her back was on the ground. Her opponent's weapon leveled at her neck.

"I yield." She said immediately.

Sir Ector sighed. "Arturia, you're skilled but you have no passion for improving yourself!" She rolled her eyes and prepared for the lecture she had heard so many times it was memorized. "Natural talent will only get you so far. If you never continue to build upon it, to improve, you will soon find yourself surrounded by enemies who will cut you down in two strikes!"

"Thank god they're not the ones who'll cut me down in one strike." She muttered. She turned her face away admiring the sky from this angle. An endless sea of blue broken by the occasional white cloud with a soft breeze. It was a perfect day.

Ector sighed again. He tossed his sword and shield to the side, a hand massaging his temple. When Merlin had entrusted the child to his care he had immediately begun to train her exactly as he had his older apprentice, Gawain. But despite his grueling instruction and harsh reprimands, Arturia continued to be obstinate.

Some days she would comply and prove she could be a model apprentice, with a sharp mind, quick footing, and swift strikes. But other days she would defy him to no end, lazy with her chores, late to her training, and half-hearted in her sparring. It irritated him that such a gifted talent with so much potential was being squandered away because of some... some... teenage funk!

"Gawain, clean this mess up." Ector gestured to the blunt swords and shields. "Arturia, finish the rest of your chores." He left the training area, headed toward the small house nearby to retire.

Arturia heard Gawain jump up when Ector addressed him and could now hear the older boy's footsteps approach her.

A face entered her field of vision, blocking out the sun. "You sucked today."

She grunted, still content to lie on the ground watching the clouds move slowly northwest.

"Are you in one of those moods?" Gawain asked. She could see the concern on his face. "Ector's pissed. He's going to give you the silent treatment again."

"I know." She had been living with the old knight for almost a decade. She knew exactly how, what, and when to say things that would set him off and how to deliver them so she would be just shy of any punishment.

She heard Gawain pick up the swords, clean them, wrap them, and tie them back to the post that served as their weapon rack. He picked up the shield Ector had dropped and knelt down to unclasp the one from Arturia's arm, positioning both where they belonged. When he was done he glanced back at his friend, but she was still lying where she had fallen, watching the sky.

"Need a hand?" He called.

She didn't answer. But she didn't have to. They had played this game before.

He strolled over to her and held out a hand. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually she grabbed his and with a grunt he pulled her up.

"Thanks." She mumbled, staggering off toward the sheep pen.

"Be back in time for dinner okay?" He said as she passed him. She lifted a lazy hand in response.

* * *

"Come here boy!" Arturia whistled softly and smiled when the white mass of fur came bounding towards her.

"Good boy!" She crooned while patting his head. The dog panted happily. She whistled again in a different tone and the dog trotted off to resume watch over the grazing herd. She flopped on her back against a gently sloping hill, keeping the scattered white dots in her peripheral vision.

She sighed.

Gawain was right, as usual. She _was_ in one of those moods.

Every time she thought about her father, she was in one of those moods.

"_Arturia, be a good girl and go play in your room." The deep voice of her father echoed through the hall. He was seated at a small table, the fine quality and lavish embellishments on this clothes displaying his status and wealth. _

"_You always tell me to play in my room! Can't I play outside?" She tugs on her father's leg. Ever since her sister had left with Lady Viviane she had no one to play with. The knights thought sparring too dull, the maids thought going on secret adventures too dangerous, and the tutors thought raiding the kitchen at midnight too outrageous. _

_She really missed Morgaine. _

_He turns to her, the detailed features of his face blurred by time. She remembers a strong jaw and green eyes, but the rest she can't recall. "No, my little lion, you're still grounded."_

_She is about to protest when her mother walks into the scene. "Arturia!" She runs into outstretched arms and snuggles into long red hair. Here, she is warm, comfortable, and safe._

"_Can I play outside?" Arturia whispers into her mother's ear._

_Igraine and her husband share a look. "If Daddy says no, he means no."_

_Arturia is about to reply when she is again cut off by the appearance of another. "Ah. The gang's all here!" Says a chipper voice she recognizes immediately as the court wizard and her father's sometimes-advisor, Merlin._

"_My Lord!" He exaggeratedly bows to Uther, "and my Lady Igraine! You look so beautiful today!" He attempts to kiss her cheek but is slapped away._

"_Perverted old letch." Igraine mutters._

_He ignores her and bends down to Arturia's eye level. "Oh! And who do we have here? The Royal heir? The Future King? The One Destined to save this country? The King's bastard chil—"_

"_Merlin, that's enough." Uther commands. Arturia knows that tone and burrows further into her mother's neck but no sooner does Igraine pull her away and set her on the floor. "Arturia, go to your room."_

_She doesn't hesitate this time, walking out and closing the door behind her. As soon as the door closes the adults begin talking. _

"_You can't do this Merlin!" Igraine says, "why go to some unknown stranger when my sister would easily and gladly take her in?"_

"_I've said before my dear, if she is to take the throne she cannot live in Camelot. She will be raised by someone respected and outside of any connection to the family."_

_Uther rubs his forehead. "It doesn't have to be this way... We're not thinking of all the alternatives!"_

_Merlin sighs. "Yes we have. We've been thinking of alternatives for seven years! Ever since the girl was born!"_

"_No, I can't Merlin." Igraine says softly. "I can't... First Morgaine and now Arturia, I can't have another child taken away."_

_Merlin looks at her sadly. "You must dear, you must find the strength in your heart to let her go."_

"_How did it come to this?" Uther looks to his wife who is almost in tears. It pains him just as much to let his youngest daughter be squired off to a knight in a town far away from here._

"_I'm sorry." Merlin says to them both in a rare show of sincerity. "I'm sorry... I really am."_

_And Arturia, with wide eyes and an ear pressed against the door, runs away as fast as her little legs can carry her._

Arturia wakes up to something warm and wet on her face. She opens her eyes to see a slobbering mouth hanging over her.

"Bad dog!" She scolds and tries to swat the animal but he runs off. The slobbery mess is promptly wiped onto her shirt. The sky is getting darker now, the once soft blue now giving way to rich purple and deep navy hues.

It's time to head back home. She relays the instructions to the dog through a few whistles and in a few minutes the sheep are lumbering their way over the hill. She trails behind them keeping a sharp eye on the shadows, the contents of her dream slowly fading away.

* * *

After her half assed attempt at sparring and backtalk, Ector wouldn't talk to her. She was expecting that. What she wasn't expecting were additional chores.

She and Gawain had just finished brushing the horses and cleaning the stalls when Ector walked into the stable. "Gawain, tell Arturia when he's done with his regular chores, he's to go into town and get everything on the shopping list." Both of them were standing right next to him and he was talking as if she wasn't there. She rolled her eyes at her mentor's immaturity.

Gawain didn't miss a beat. He turned to her. "Sir Ector wants you to get all the shopping done after you're done with your chores."

"And tell him to get my sword polished while he's there." Ector strolled out leaving the two apprentices to their work.

"He also wants you to get his sword polished while you're there."

"Shut up Gawain. I heard him."

* * *

The town was easily six or seven miles away and there were no roads connecting it to Ector's house. Ector was subtly punishing her by making her finish her chores early so she would have enough time to get to town, buy everything, and be back before dusk. Most villagers glanced her way when she rode into town. Rarely did they get to see either of the two apprentices serving under Sir Ector. There were a couple of other knights in the area with apprentices of their own but they lived much closer to town and thus were seen more often.

She would never admit it but wearing Ector's sword on her hip made her feel like a knight. This was a _real _weapon, not one of those blunt edged blades she and Gawain fought with. _This _was a tool for killing. She felt invincible and anything that needed to die had best stay out of her way.

She tied up the horse and saw to the blacksmith first who told her to come back in a few hours. When her business there was done she went about buying everything on the list. Arturia walked up to a pretty brunette girl who was arranging various fruits and vegetables outside her stall.

The girl looked up when Arturia approached. "One of Sir Ector's students?"

"Yes ma'am."

Her face brightened considerably. "Sir Ector used to work under the late King right?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Did he happen to know the wizard Merlin?"

Arturia went still. Merlin was a name she hadn't heard of in a very long time. Memories of the old man came almost entirely from before she met Ector. A time when her father was still alive, when she still played in the yard with her sister, when she was still a child—blissfully unaware. Arturia schooled her features, "I'm not sure. He might have. May I ask why the sudden interest in the wizard?"

"He came around about a week ago." The girl said so casually that Arturia had to force herself not to choke. "I didn't see him myself. I thought maybe Sir Ector might want to know his friend was in the area."

"I don't know if they were friends..." Arturia mumbled. The rest of the conversation steered towards business and Arturia was able to barter successfully for everything they needed. She tied her purchases the horse and hoped that the old knight would be satisfied.

The final item to see to was Ector's sword. The blacksmith assured her he was almost done and she waited around in the shop for him to finish.

"You been east beyond the town recently?" The blacksmith asked casually while he worked.

"No sir." Arturia answered. "Something happen? Not the Saxons I hope."

He laughed. "Not one of them in sight for years, they won't come this far west." Through the sounds of the grindstone she could _feel _his giddiness. "I meant _the sword_."

Arturia furrowed her brows. "I'm afraid I haven't heard anything noteworthy about a sword. What kind of sword?"

"Don't know!" The man flipped the blade and began polishing the other side. "Been hearing about it. Rumors among the villagers. Thought it was rubbish. But my boys wanted to go see it so I took them over there, and there it was! A sword!"

"Okay..." She said slowly. "Is there something special about this sword?"

"It's stuck in a rock!"

Arturia was now throughly confused. A sword stuck in a rock. Well, that would certainly make this sword special. It's not everyday you get so completely drunk that you swing your sword into a rock and can't get it out. For Arturia, a knight in training, this just sounded completely stupid.

"I'm sorry sir, I don't see the—"

"No, no, I can't give it justice. Best you go see it for yourself." The grindstone stopped and he wiped the blade clean before handing it to her. She was about to leave when he gave her one more piece of gossip. "I don't know my letters, but on the sword, there's something written on its hilt."

Arturia was halfway out the door when she called back to him. "If I had to guess, I'd say it was the name of the drunkard who got the damn thing stuck in the first place!"

* * *

It was completely dark by the time Arturia made it back home.

Gawain was absolutely ecstatic when she handed him a bag of apples. He went on and on about how his horse loved apples and hadn't gotten any last month because Ector forgot to get them the last time he was in town. Arturia could care less. All she could think about was the name _Merlin._

"Any rumors going around?" Gawain asked excitedly.

Arturia thought about telling him about the Merlin piece but she was too tired to talk about the ghosts of her past. The day was already confusing and tiresome without having to lie to her friend that 'Yes there was a rumor going around about Uther's court wizard and no she didn't know anything about the man.' It's not like he would find that sort of thing interesting anyway. She carried the rest of the goods into the house and flopped on her bed face down.

"Nothing that you would be interested in." Her voice muffled by the pillow.

Gawain made a disappointed noise. "Man this sucks! Next time _I _want to get the groceries!"

"Be my guest." She mumbled and fell in to a deep sleep.

_It had barely been a year since she had been smuggled out of the castle in the dead of night and traveled well over two weeks to get to her new home, a small remote house in a small remote town surrounded by miles and miles of hilly grassland._

_Here was where Merlin had deemed she would start her new life. Not as Heir to Uther Pendragon the King of England, but Arturia._

_Just Arturia._

"_Do you like it here?" Merlin had dropped in on her one day while she was out tending the sheep. She was still relatively new to shepherding and mostly let the dog lead her. They were easily the only people within miles and Ector wasn't expecting her back for another couple of hours._

"_It's okay." _

"_Do you miss your parents?" He had asked._

"_Sometimes."_

_She missed her parents deeply in those first few months but she never cried and never talked about them. Most of all, she missed the freedom of castle life. Everywhere you looked there was always somebody. Life was a whirlwind of color, light, and sound. But here, in this faraway town, there was nothing but the sky, the wind, and the grass under her feet._

_And there were rules. Strict rules that Sir Ector made sure she followed._

"_And how are your studies?"_

"_Sir Ector only makes me fetch things for him and clean and take care of the animals." She had mumbled. "Gawain is the only one allowed to use the training weapons."_

_Merlin smiled. He had promised Igraine he would check on the child, right after she had a major breakdown and swore she would shut herself in a nunnery. He really hadn't expected the woman to react that badly to her children's absence. Uther was taking it hard too, but the day to day pressures of war kept him from dwelling on it for too long._

_He was happy to know Arturia was doing well and the plan was still in motion._

"_Don't worry too much. That's how all knights are with a new pupil. Soon you'll be a squire, and eventually he'll make you his apprentice. And who knows? Keep up your training and one day you might be a knight!"_

_Arturia was silent. Being a knight mattered little to her now. Before she was taken away, if someone had asked her what she wanted most in the world she would have said being a knight. To be recognized for her swordsmanship, to serve under her father, and ride alongside him into battle. Who could ask for more? But things were different now._

"_Your mother wanted you to have this." Merlin handed her something wrapped in cloth. "I didn't want you to have anything that would tie you to the Pendragon name but I suppose it was cruel of me to deny you at least one thing from home..."_

_Arturia unwrapped the object. It was a small piece of wood enough to fit in the palm of her hand, shaped like a shield, with an image of a dragon delicately carved into it. It was beautiful._

"_It's going to take a long time for me to get everything ready, and we must all wait until the right moment to make our stand." Merlin murmured to himself. At the time she may not have understood everything he was telling her, but she could understand the tone of his voice. He was working toward a larger goal and if the feelings of a young girl had to be crushed for him to get it—then so be it._

_He glanced at Uther's daughter and addressed her in a solemn tone. "Arturia... No matter how long it takes... Never forget who you are. You are the Once and Future King."_

"_But I... I don't want to be King."_

* * *

Gawain gets his wish two months later and returns from town overflowing with the latest gossip and news.

"Can you believe it?" He gushes as he unpacks everything. "A magic sword! They're calling it the Sword in the Stone. Isn't that so cool?" Arturia vaguely remembers something about a sword the last time she went to the market but the details are hazy.

Gawain continues. "I asked why there were all these people around lately, and she says 'they're here to try and pull the sword from the stone.' So I said 'what sword?' and she says she doesn't know. She hadn't taken the time to travel over there to see it, her stall's been so busy with all the passersby coming through."

"How far away is it?"

"Not that far I heard. Only a mile or so east ways. There's got to be a long line now, so it shouldn't be hard to miss."

"You're talking like you plan to go there." Arturia says suspiciously.

The older boy grins. "That's because I haven't told you the best part yet. They say whoever manages to pull the sword from the stone is the next King of England!"

Arturia chokes on air and doubles over coughing. "Who the hell made _that _up?"

Gawain hands her a cup of water which she gulps down. "Not me. It's just what I heard. I guess that's why there's been so much commotion lately. It could be a hoax... But from the way people were talking... I don't think it is. Maybe there is some truth in the rumors. I'd like to see it for myself even if it is a fake."

Uther's heir sits on the edge of the bed to calm herself. "You think they'd honor it? If someone actually does manage to pull the sword out, would they really be the next King?"

Arturia never forgot what Merlin had said to her. But was his prophecy wrong? He said she was the Once and Future King but if someone else pulled the Sword in the Stone wouldn't that make her an ordinary person? If someone else pulled the sword would that make her... not King? She didn't want to be King so this was perfect. All she had to do was wait. Wait for the real King of England to step up and take his title.

But wait for how long? The country desperately needed someone on the throne. After her father's death there had been something of a power struggle within the kingdom. He had no official heir and had not appointed someone to rule after him, so naturally every knight, Duke, and aristocrat powerful enough to take the throne had claimed it for themselves. Currently the seat remained empty, the political squabbling and backstabbing preventing anyone from wearing the crown just yet.

The infighting had further weakened armies in territories all across the land. Major cities were splintering themselves off, keeping their troops close to home, to defend against attacks outside as well as within. It was the gruesome reality of the situation... Without a King to unite them the country would fall in a matter of years.

"We could use a King." Gawain answers simply. "Does it matter how he's chosen?"

"I would think so." Arturia thinks of the consequences if she were the one to pull the sword. Disaster— that's what would happen. Subconsciously she asks the questions she has feared ever since she understood what it meant to be Uther Pendragon's heir. "What if he isn't suitable? What if he isn't a good King?"

Gawain shrugs. "I don't know. He can't be that bad. Hey, don't look so upset, if he does turn out to be a bad King, we'll just kill him and pick a new one."

Somehow his answer doesn't help her in the slightest.

* * *

Weeks pass and life continues on for Arturia and her small family. She continues training with Ector, occasionally pissing him off, cleaning the house, and taking care of the animals.

Through it all, in the back of her mind, she still thinks about the sword. It was like Gawain had planted the seed in her mind and she was powerless to fight it. Should she make the trip to try and pull the sword for herself? Or should she wait for someone else to succeed? What if she was too hasty and pulled the sword before its true owner could have a go at it? What if... What if the sword wasn't meant for her? What if it was?

She shook her head. Too many thoughts. Too many questions. Ever since Gawain told her the story about the sword she would have these moments where she would be flooded with uncertainty. Should shes and should she nots, what ifs and why nots... It getting so bad she would toss and turn at night, visions of a sword tumbling around in her head.

She needed to put these doubts to rest. She needed to see the sword for herself, that's what she needed. But between her daily chores and apprentice duties she had little time to wander off to the hill east beyond the town. She would have to wait until Ector ordered her to the market.

Unfortunately the next time they run out of necessities and need someone to go shopping Ector chooses Gawain instead. She argues for the spot but eventually concedes.

"What's gotten into you?" Gawain asks her playfully. "You usually don't like extra work."

"I need to get away. Clear my mind and all that." Arturia replies. Not exactly a lie but fairly close to the truth.

"Yeah? Me too." He grins but the smile is more sinister than friendly. He's planning something and she doesn't like it.

* * *

When Gawain returns that night with a month's worth of supplies he is uncharacteristically sullen. She helps him unpack everything and leaves him be. Had it been anyone else they might have asked him what was wrong, offer their shoulder to cry on or lend a sympathetic ear but Arturia does none of that. She was concerned but wasn't sure how to go about expressing it. Empathy had never been her strong suit.

The next morning Gawain is oddly sluggish in his chores and makes easy mistakes during a sparring session. Arturia offers to bring him along on her shepherding duties. It's soothing, calming, and might help him relax. Plus she rarely has company while walking up and down the hills. It would be nice to talk to someone.

She whistles a long high pitched note. The sheep continue their leisurely meal, content to munch on the fresh grass. The dog circles them occasionally.

She looks over at Gawain. He hasn't said anything since they left the house. She isn't sure if bringing him out here had really helped him at all until he finally speaks.

"I tried you know." Gawain says without looking at her. "It didn't even budge." She doesn't need to ask to know what he's referring to.

She doesn't know if she should give him pity or sarcasm. She opts for the latter. "Of course it didn't or I'd be on my knees already wouldn't I?"

He grins broadly, his first one all day. "But wouldn't that be great if I were King? I'd have all the wealth, wine, and women I could ever want!"

Arturia rolls her eyes but can't help smiling a little too. "You'd be a horrible King."

"Shut up." He shoves her playfully. He seems to be in a better mood. "I'd help the country too! I'd build the biggest army the world has ever seen! Every one of my knights would equal a hundred of our enemies."

"You'd be the most powerful man in the country and Ector would _still_ order you around."

"Too true!" He laughs. "What about you? What would you do if you were King?"

What would she do? What _would_ she do... She would do her best at leading this country. She'd ride alongside her knights into battle, help slay their enemies, and revel in their victories. She would be kind and she would be just and fair. She would be a good King. She _hoped _she would be a good King. The reality was far more simple—she didn't want the crown.

She watches the wind rustle the blades of grass like waves. "There'd be nothing _to _do. I don't want to be King."

"Oh _come on."_ Gawain drawls. "Everyonewants to be King."

"I don't." She says without hesitation.

For some reason her answer makes him laugh. "One day you will. _Everyone_ wants to be King, trust me."

* * *

She groans and rolls over for the millionth time that night. She can hear Gawain snoring in his bed, blissfully unaware of her tossing and turning. She still can't get that damn sword out of her head. She grits her teeth and pulls her pillow over her head as if that would squash all her rampant thoughts. Gawain was wrong—she didn't want to be King!

But she still wanted to see that sword that everyone was talking about.

To sate her curiosity.

Yes, it was only for curiosity's sake.

That's what she told herself.

* * *

The next month she succeeds in getting Ector to agree for her to tag along with Gawain to the market. When they arrive she makes up some excuse to walk around town while he gathers the necessary supplies. She hangs around and makes sure she isn't being followed before bolting for a back alley and slipping out of the village borders.

She begins to make the trip to the stone. Initial popularity of the thing had died down somewhat during the last month and the hordes of people were no longer waiting in line for their turn at the sword. There were still people who came to try but they were once in a blue moon now. Mainly wealthy aristocrats and old knights with their entourages, people who thought they deserved to be crowned.

Also adding to the lack of people was the legitimacy of the whole thing. It was hard to tell what was true and what was not these days. Rumors flew left and right and got lost in the grapevine. In some cities as far as the western coast the sword had already been pulled!

It comes as no surprise to her that she doesn't meet anyone on her way up to the sword. She wasn't expecting to find anyone out here anyway. She didn't _want _to find anyone. She didn't want anyone to know she was even here. Why, she didn't know. Some kind of shame or guilt, some embarrassment and fear, or some other emotion.

A flash of light catches her eye. She can see the stone in the distance. She resumes her trek. With each step the Sword in the Stone becomes bigger and bigger until she is standing right in front of it.

She takes a hesitant step toward the sword. Now that she was seeing it for herself she could tell this was no ordinary sword in a stone. She could tell very easily that this sword had been deliberately placed here by some sort of magic.

There was nothing special about the stone. It looked like any ordinary rock one would find anywhere along the hills. It even had bits of grass clinging to it like it had been left here for centuries.

But the sword. Now that was a different story. Never had she seen a sword like that. Draped in blue and gold, littered with jewels, it practically screamed royalty. Even after enduring the harsh outdoor environment and thousands of eager hands hoping for their chance at the prophecy, the handle glittered with perfection and the small part of the blade that was visible shined like a beacon.

She took the last steps leading up to the stone. An arms width away, she could easily reach out and give it a tug if she so wanted to. At this distance she could also make out the phrase written on the hilt. The phrase that had everyone buzzing.

_Whoever pulls out this sword in the stone_

_is the rightful King of England_

For a moment, she forgets to breathe. There is no doubt in her mind, whoever manages to pull this sword from the stone _would _be crowned King. She had yet to touch it but she could _feel _the power in the blade. She could _feel _the magic.

Worst of all, she could feel it calling to her.

"Pull that sword out of the stone and you will be King."

She whips around in surprise. Standing a couple paces behind her is an old man dressed in an unadorned blue robe carrying a simple staff in his right hand. His long white beard is unmistakable.

"Merlin." Arturia whispers in awe. The last time she had seen him was when he had given her a polished piece of wood with a dragon carved on it. That was years ago. She remembers hiding it somewhere only for it to be forgotten and lost to time. Then she remembers it was he who took her away from her family, who had thrust her into a game where she was only a chess piece, and narrows her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

He ignores her question. "There's no going back once you take it." He says solemnly. "You will no longer be human."

She grits her teeth and looks back to the sword. Wait, when did her hand start reaching out for the handle? She snaps it back in horror.

"I said what are you doing here?" She asks again angrily.

"I could ask the same." He counters. "It's been ages since I've seen you last, and ages still when I saw you with your mother and sister. I would like nothing more than to sit and talk with you but I'm afraid these conditions aren't the happiest."

Arturia looks him in the eyes trying to find some hidden agenda. "I'm just here to see what all the fuss is about."

"Oh?" Merlin seems unconvinced. "You're sure you don't want to try pulling that sword out of that stone there?"

She huffs and steps away from the stone just in case her hand tries to betray her again. She crosses her arms for added protection. "No. Not at all."

"Why?" He asks as if he's asking why the sky is blue.

"I don't feel like it."

"Why?"

"_Because I don't want to be King!" _She yells. Merlin's expression is unchanged. Whether she has surprised, angered, or annoyed him, she can't tell. She is angry and exhausted and his incessant prodding—no his very presence here—makes the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She hardly knows the man, she knew _of_ him when she was living in Camelot, but she never really talked to him. He was more interested in flirting with her mother and any pretty face that happened to be nearby. The one thing she _does_ know is everywhere he goes he brings problems. She may have been young but she knew he had a hand in her relocation and it's obvious now this Sword in the Stone is his doing.

So what did it matter if her answer wasn't the one he wanted? She could care less.

She is about to say something else but he beats her to it. "Looks like you have company."

She scans the horizon and spots a rapidly moving blob that is steadily getting larger. Indeed, there was someone coming. As the figure gets closer she can tell it's Gawain. She turns to tell Merlin exactly that but the wizard is gone.

"Hey." Gawain says as he slows the horse into a trot. "Looked all over the market for you, didn't think you'd be _here_ of all places."

"Sorry. I just wanted to see the sword everyone's talking about."

He smirks. "Sure you weren't trying to pull it out while no one was looking?" He takes her silence for confirmation. "Yes! I _knew_ you were joking when you said you didn't want to be King! It's okay you know. I'm not going to think any different of you if you can't pull it out. I couldn't do it either." She thanks him for the reassurance and he pulls her up.

"I wasn't joking." She says as they ride back home. "I really don't want to be King."

Gawain laughs. "Sure, keep lying to yourself Arturia!"

* * *

Ector announces one day that they are nearly done with their training. Both apprentices are ecstatic at the news but instead of letting up, Ector seems to push them harder than ever before. He won't take any mistakes now and he expects flawless swordsmanship from each of them.

Practice becomes hard and grueling. Arturia feels like she's seven years old again and doesn't know how to hold a sword properly. Gawain feels the same way.

"You're well on your way to knighthood!" Ector would lecture. "They won't make you a knight if you make a squire's mistakes! You want to be a knight don't you? Then why are leaving so many openings? I'm a Saxon and I'm trying to kill you! Are you just going to stand there or are you going to tighten up that lousy footwork?"

Sometimes Arturia was so frustrated she felt like strangling him in his sleep.

* * *

Weeks pass without interruption until sightings of enemy troops reach their ears. Groups of men, two and three, sometimes even by themselves, are spotted hovering near the outskirts of the neighboring villages. Most are chased away or cut down on the spot. Still, who knew how long they had been lurking and watching, waiting to strike? The news set everyone on edge.

"They're scouts." Arturia says perfectly calm as she wipes the dust from Ector's breastplate. Not a very fun chore for an apprentice, but a chore none the less.

"Cowards." Gawain grumbles. He sweeps the mop harder against the floor sending drops of water flying. "What gives them the right? Should come down here and show their _faces like men!_ Our armies will meet them, head on!"

"I'd do the same if I were in charge." She sets the metal down and begins work on the next segment.

Gawain was all about strength. He was tall and broad, with a big mighty heart and even mightier sword strikes. He strived to be the perfect ideal of a knight, someone who never backed down, who stood for all that was right in this world, the very epitome of chivalry. Arturia was different. She was weaker but she was faster and smarter. She acknowledged the knight's code and chose to live by it but as a leader, as a girl who eavesdropped on her father's secret meetings, she understood that there was more to war than strength and honor. As a commander the formation of ranks, lines, of cavalry, smart preparation, and often deceit in the heat of battle, were just as important as one's strength.

Where Gawain was a huge hulking bear, she was a stalking lioness. She had no doubt would they enter a battle together they would work well watching each other's backs.

"It's called strategy." She replies curtly, as if she were talking to a child.

He snorts. "You always did prefer your chess and mind games to an actual fight. Of course someone so dishonorable as you would follow in that coward's footsteps." It wasn't as if he had shouted it in anger or meant for it to hurt but he said it like it was a fact. And yes, Arturia was lazy, stubborn, and sometimes disrespectful but she was never—she was not in any way, shape, or form—dishonorable.

If it was the one thing she had left from her old life in Camelot, it was her pride. It was her honor.

And Gawain's words, said in the heat of the moment, stung.

"What did you say?" She asks quietly. There's a dangerous undertone in her voice.

He doesn't realize he's said it until it's already out of his mouth. "You heard what I said."

She flings the armor piece she was cleaning on the floor. It clangs loudly. Gawain lets the handle of the mop fall. She steps up to him, her harsh glare making up for her small height. "Say it again." She challenges him. "Say it again and I swear, I'll punch your teeth out."

It has been a stressful week, with sightings of Saxons and an irritable Ector pouncing on them for every little thing. It was inevitable that an argument would break out eventually. Arturia was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

"You're a dishonorable little—" A fist is in his face so blindingly fast he can't feel his nose until he's on the ground. He growls and tackles her into the wall. Their pent up frustration fuels them and Ector's hand to hand combat lessons are put to good use.

She bangs his head against the wall twice before he gets a leg around and trips her. On her way down she manages to catch his arm and they fall together. He rolls on top of her, holds a fist up and slams it right in her face. The impact causes her to bite her tongue and she spits out a mouthful of blood. She knees him in the chest and he falls into the bed, tumbles over it, and bangs himself against the headboard.

Before Gawain can launch his counterattack Ector barges into the room, the door hitting the wall loudly.

"What the hell is going on here!" His two apprentices are glaring daggers at each other and neither will say a word to him. He takes one look at Arturia's split lip and Gawain's bloody nose and doesn't need to see any more to know they were fighting. He would have to punish them later. "Settle your disputes quickly, there's been word. There's a house northeast from here, it's been attacked!"

* * *

Arturia and Ector ride out to the house to help survivors and drive off any enemies but when they get there, there is no one left. The place is in shambles and all member of he house are long dead. There are no signs of the attackers.

They ride back empty handed.

"This is only the beginning." Ector says to the two of them as he tends to their wounds. He puts a rag under Gawain's nose and gently tips his head back. "The people who attacked that house will be back."

"Why did they stop there?" Arturia asks. She has a bandage on her lip and is holding a cool cloth to her eye.

"They could have invaded further south that's true." Ector shakes his head. "All I know is that this is not a good sign. They'll be back and when they do we better be prepared or we're going to have one hard fight ahead of us."

The small house is quiet for a long while as its occupants mull over the recent events.

When he thinks his apprentices have had enough time to calm down Ector speaks. "Now does one of you care to explain why there are fresh dents in my walls?"

"It was stupid." Arturia mumbles. "It was stupid, I started it, and I'll accept any consequences."

"It was my fault too." Gawain hangs his head in shame. "When an ally attacks in anger a true knight doesn't hit back."

Ector sighs. His apprentices were highly skilled in armed and unarmed combat, had they really been fighting he was sure they would both be severely wounded. He was honestly relieved they hadn't done any permanent damage to themselves or to the house but he wasn't going to tell them that.

Right now it was time for another lecture. "Wars come and go, cities flourish and crumble, sickness plagues villages every so often... These are things a country can weather. But the one thing it cannot hope to win against is when its people fight each other."

Gawain turns toward Arturia as much as he can. "I'm sorry I goaded you." He says softly. "Forgive me?"

Arturia smiles despite her stinging lip. "You're my brother. I will always forgive you."

* * *

Things slip back into routine, although the heavy cloud of uncertainty and danger lurk at the back of everyone's mind. Ector restricts anyone from going out alone at night and how far they can be from the house at any given time. Practice sessions become intense workouts designed for strengthening endurance and smart improvisations during the heat of battle. Both apprentices seem to put more effort into their training.

But by the third month without a followup attack, everything has gone back to normal.

The sun casts a long shadow as Arturia watches Ector and Gawain spar with mild interest. The dulled metal blades clang loudly and dust is kicked into the air as the two fighters dance around each other. Gawain has a huge smile on his face, his swings are a wall of strength and power that showcase all his years of training. She is reminded of a violent wave crashing onto the shore, its destructiveness completely decimating anything on the coast within seconds.

As usual Ector can't let an opportunity to lecture his students slip by unnoticed. "In a real battle I would be aiming for vital areas. Had I done so from the beginning, this fight would not have lasted as long as it has."

"Are you making up excuses now? Just admit it, I'm better than you!" Gawain taunts with a wide grin.

"Your arrogance is unbecoming!"

They continue with their fight as Arturia slouches a little further in her seat from boredom. Truth be told, she and Gawain were done with their training. They were both masters in the art of the sword and there was nothing Ector could teach them that he hadn't already. The rest would come with experience.

She wonders why Ector hadn't taken them to get knighted already. Perhaps it was sentimentality. A part of her wanted to stay in this little house forever. She would certainly miss Ector when she and Gawain were sworn into service. But no matter how much she longed for peaceful days like these, war sung in her veins and she itched to be on the battlefield.

She sighs and props her head on her hand. With the ringing of clashing swords, battered shields, and friendly taunts and jeers in the background, she slowly closes her eyes.

"_You're really quiet."_

_She stares at the never ending field of grass behind the young boy. He can tell she's not afraid. No, afraid was not the right word for it. She was uninterested. Her hands are unaccustomed to working the basic stable chores, she didn't know the best seasons for farming or the best way to mend torn clothing, although she could read and write and ride a horse fairly well. Gawain thinks she must have come from a wealthy family and wonders what made them send her way out here in the middle of nowhere when she could have easily been squired off to someone closer to home._

"_You're not bad with a sword." Gawain says gently hoping a compliment would make her open up more. _

_She shrugs. "Thanks."_

"_Ector made you responsible for the sheep huh?" _

_She nods._

"_That used to be my job before you got here." Gawain boasts. "It's an easy job. I just let the dog do everything. If you go out far enough so Ector won't see you, you can just lie down and take a nap."_

_She nods again, storing away the information for later. Gawain tries several more times to initiate conversation but each attempt falls flat. He learns she likes the color blue and is preferential to lions but that's about all he can get out of her. Eventually he lets silence reign and the only noise is the sounds they make while they work._

_The only time where she truly shines is on the training field. Gawain thinks he's never seen someone so determined in his life. Ector is absolutely over the moon having an apprentice who is so eager to learn. Her efforts compel Gawain to take his own practice sessions more seriously. He can't have the newbie getting better without him. _

_Then suddenly she is melancholy. She won't show up to practice on time, she's absent for most of the day, she doesn't follow orders, it was like someone flipped a switch. She becomes even more withdrawn and Gawain thinks having a ghost around would be more lively than her. _

"_Are you sick?" Gawain asks._

_She shakes her head._

"_Are you mad?"_

_She shakes her head again._

_Gawain frowns. She wasn't ill and she wasn't angry. As a child not even ten years old, he couldn't understand what else would make her upset. "You can always tell me what's wrong." _

_She looks down at her feet but still won't say what's bothering her._

_He tries a different tactic. "Sometimes when Ector yelled at me and I got mad I would just walk away. I would walk around until I felt better. Sometimes you just need to go outside and get some fresh air. Sometimes I'll even talk to myself."_

_She takes his advice. When she comes back she doesn't tell him she was thinking about her parents and all the mischief she used to get into around the castle, but neither does she ignore his questions anymore. Gawain smiles when she begins to open up to him. She was smart, kind, and a good friend. He resolves to be the same._

_He never asks why she occasionally falls into one of her moods. _

_Everyone had their secrets._

* * *

"Wanna hear the news?" Gawain asks as he dumps their month's worth of supplies on the table. Having just come back from town he was brimming with excitement, it was too bad both Arturia and Ector never gave much credit to rumors.

Arturia folds her arms and shrugs. "I suppose. You always were a horrible gossip."

He grins. "Remember the Sword in the Stone? It's still there, and guess what that means?"

"That someone glued the sword to the stone?"

"No!" He makes a face. "It means I have a second chance!"

She rolls her eyes. While Gawain makes plans to try his hand at the magic sword the next time he's sent to the market, Arturia slips away to the stables. She takes a brush and begins grooming the horses, handing an apple to the horse that Gawain took to the market.

After the stalls were cleaned and the horses satisfied she wanders over to where the sheep were kept, taking them out to feed as well. They follow her obediently while the dog trails at the back of the herd.

By mid afternoon Ector wanted her in the training ring and she reluctantly drags her feet to practice. Their sparring is second nature to her now and she loses all thought as she lets her muscle memory take over. She doesn't even notice Gawain coming over to watch.

Eventually Ector calls it a day and she listens to his lectures halfheartedly. Yes, she _knew_ she could have taken that opening earlier and had Ector been a Saxon, she would have. But she wanted to prolong their little training session. She wanted to hold on to her sword a little longer. She wanted to feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins for a moment more. She wanted to hear the words "I yield" in a breathless voice and make her victory that much sweeter.

Gawain claps behind her, congratulating her performance. Ector berates him for something he did wrong or another. They trade barbs. She rolls her eyes. They walk back to the house together, the three of them.

Just another day like any other.

* * *

On a particularly sunny day Arturia takes the sheep farther out than usual, finds a nice place to nap at the base of a gently sloping hill and closes her eyes.

"_Don't cry Arturia." Morgaine runs her hands through her little sister's golden hair softly. "Please don't cry."_

_Arturia sobs into the older girl's shoulder. She loved Lady Viviane—high priestess of the lake, Lady of Avalon, a wizard with just as many tricks up her sleeve as Merlin, a tiny old woman who always enjoyed playing with children—but right now, Arturia hated her. She hated Viviane because she was taking her sister away from her._

"_Why are you leaving me?" Arturia asked once her tears had ceased._

_Morgaine didn't know how to answer that. Viviane saw potential in her as a priestess and was going to oversee her training herself. It was an honor. To be personally trained by the high priestess herself at her temple in Avalon was a big deal. It broke her heart to leave her baby sister behind but what choice did she have? She was almost of marrying age. If she stayed in Camelot then Uther would undoubtedly marry her off for political reasons and she would forever live her life as a bargaining chip._

_As a priestess she would have more freedom. She would have a say in what she wanted to do in life. As a priestess she wouldn't just be some girl, she would be respected._

_But all Arturia could think of was that Morgaine was leaving her._

"_Sometimes people are given two different choices in life." Morgaine says softly. "One choice is easy because you know what's going to happen. Stay true to what you know and you will never waver."_

"_And the other choice?"_

"_The other choice is hard because you're not sure if it's a good or bad choice. You're choosing an unknown quantity. You're doing something you've never done before. You're taking a gamble. You're taking a risk."_

_Arturia was an adult now and she understood what her sister had been trying to tell her. The unknown was the harder choice. But wasn't that how life always was? Stay far away from the Sword in the Stone and live out her life in relative peace or become what everyone had said she would be. Oh if only Morgaine could see her now! Arturia could almost laugh they had such a similar problems. _

"_Can I come visit you?"_

"_Of course!" Morgaine laughed. "No, even better, I'll come visit you! One day I'll come see you and I'll take you to Avalon. I promise."_

She wakes with a heavy heart. She can't remember how long it's been since she's dreamed of Morgaine. She hoped her sister had found what she wanted in Avalon. How ironic she would dream of the night of Morgaine's departure, of that one conversation she had with her before she left, the one about making difficult decisions.

She is lost in thought when she smells something burning.

She smells smoke.

She picks herself off the ground and turns toward the market. There, high in the sky, partially hidden behind the hill, she sees a pillar of heavy black smoke and a few small wisps nearby. Her first thought is that it couldn't be a battle. No, it was something else, a fire started by a careless villager or a malfunction at the blacksmith's. Something... Anything but a battle. She takes the steps up the hill hesitantly. She is afraid of what she might see.

She stops at the top of the hill gazing out at the destruction before her. There's fire everywhere. She can see the survivors fleeing like ants, the stragglers mercilessly cut down by their enemies. For a few moments she is unable to move.

This was the day Ector was referring to. The Saxons were finally here.

A second more and she is flying down the hill with no thought as to what she will do once she gets to the bottom. All she can see is her people burning, screaming, _dying_ and she can't do anything about it. She wills her legs to move faster. Distantly she can hear the old sheepdog barking behind her.

A large man with numerous scars across his body is dragging a girl across the dirt by her hair. Arturia vaguely recognizes her as one of the villagers. She is screaming and all Arturia can see is red. She roars and launches herself at the man making them both tumble head over heels into the grass. He yells something indistinctly and tries to pull her off but she fights him like a hell cat. Any exposed skin or hair she rips into, pulling and scratching, screaming curses all the while. The man reaches for the axe at his hip intending to hack into her unprotected body but Arturia blocks his arm, wrenches the weapon out of his grasp and plunges it into his face again and again until there is nothing but a bloody mess.

When she gets up she is panting heavily and her clothes and face are splattered with the blood of her first kill. The girl she saved screams at the sight. She must look like a nightmarish angel of death.

As her body comes down from the adrenaline high, she takes stock of the once proud market. She is too late. The Saxons have already burnt it to the ground and there is hardly anyone left. She can see signs of struggle here and there. There are bodies lying lifelessly under piles of blackened wood and along the perimeter, no doubt trying to flee. The Saxons must have ransacked the place and set it on fire at some point before leaving.

Her first thought was of Ector and Gawain. She hoped they were alive. She needed to find them. Her next thought is how far south the Saxons have penetrated the country. They were much too close for comfort, they must have destroyed more than a few cities on the way here. Her eyes widen. If they came from the north they would have passed Ector's house...

A trio of voices cut through her train of thought. Arturia makes a split decision and takes the axe off the bloodied man. When they come closer, she would give them the surprise of their life.

"Heard some screaming over there."

"A bitch getting what she deserved that's what!"

"The brunette? She was a pretty young thing. I'd like to—" The axe sinks into his unprotected head. He's dead before he hits the ground.

"What the—" The second one screams and has his sword partway out of its sheath but that is all he can do before he too is bleeding out next to his brethren.

The third one has his sword out, shield up, and doesn't rush in. "Damn you!" He snarls. Arturia has to suppress a laugh. He thinks he has the right to curse her? After their army ambushed them, murdered everyone in the vicinity, and beat and raped anyone who looked enticing? He would die today. That was one thing she was absolutely sure of.

She would be merciful and make it a swift death.

He circles her warily. After seeing her cut down two of his friends, he's smart to be cautious. She hefts the axe experimentally. It's a bit too heavy to swing properly with one hand, she'll have to use two.

She scans the man for any sort of weakness but all she can see are his beady eyes glaring daggers at her, his ugly crooked nose, the scars along his bulging biceps, and the two little braids he has in his beard. One on one with a man who towered over her in height, three times her weight, with a sword and shield, and she was armed with nothing but an unfamiliar weapon off a corpse? The odds definitely weren't in her favor. The reality of the situation hits her and she begins to panic.

"_You're small and weak and tiny. Already an adult and you're still a head shorter than Gawain!" A faraway voice says to her. "You've a good sword arm and that'll do to impress the ladies, but that's not going to win you a fight. You need strength in your swings or your enemies won't even bat an eye."_

Like a ghost that had been dredged up from some long forgotten past, one of Ector's lectures surges through her head. The familiarity of the sound calms her mind.

"_Your enemy's going to slap your shield right out of your hand if you don't block it right. Don't even try it with a sword. Your bones will break just from the parry." Ector couldn't believe his second apprentice was so scrawny. No matter how much meat and vegetables he stuffed in her or how much weight training he made her go through, she was still lacking. Arturia was strong for someone her size but against a full grown man she wouldn't stand a chance. "We must face the facts. You're weak and you always will be. But you have good footing. Use it."_

He steps in and gives a nice swing of his sword. She sees the attack coming and steps aside easily. He telegraphs the next one and she uses it to step closer into his guard. His shield still blocks her way.

"_But you can't evade forever." Ector continues knowing Arturia has already tuned him out. "Battles are won because you made the last strike and are the last one standing. You've got a good head on your shoulders. You have good instincts, a sense of the ebb and flow of battle. Be patient."_

If she had a sword she knew she could have ended the battle by now. He adjusts his stance and her opening vanishes. She grips the axe with both hands and waits for a better opportunity.

"_Where does this leave you? You're strong enough to kill a man but not strong enough to engage him in a prolonged battle. But you have no trouble finding the holes in your enemy's guard and you're quick enough to hit him within that time period." Ector starts to pace, a sign that he is fully focused on his lecture. "So what you need is a killing strike. You need to practice, train, and hone... You need to _master _this one strike."_

He is frustrated. His anger clouds his judgement and her small frame makes her easy to underestimate. His attacks become wilder now and he has started to drop his guard. He is losing control. Still she waits, she knows he will give her an opening soon. The moment comes, just as she had anticipated. He lowers his shield arm halfway and she gives it a good kick to the elbow joint. The bone snaps and he cries out, doubling over in pain.

"_A blow so powerful, with all your weight behind it—delivered at the exact moment he gives you an opening—that it is essentially a one hit kill." Ector stop pacing and looks directly at her, although his eyes are unfocused like he is seeing right through her. "That will be your legacy. The knight that can kill anything in his path with one swing."_

She raises the axe above her head. She can see him beginning to recover from the shock. He'll attack her if she doesn't act quickly. She brings the weapon down with a great shout, cutting all the way through his spine and muscle so that the point protrudes from his stomach. He falls to the ground.

She breathes a shaky sigh of relief. Her first skirmish and she came out alive. A small smile finds its way to her lips and she basks in the victory. It was only now that she realizes she should've spent more time focused on her training with Ector. It was his teachings that had saved her today and she resolved she would work harder than ever when everything was back to normal. But that was for later. Right now she needed to find him and find Gawain.

She runs through the ruins of a once bustling market checking any bodies that resemble the people she's looking for. A little bit of hope returns to her every time she checks a body and it turns out to be an unknown villager. She is sad and furious over the loss of life but she wouldn't know what to do if Gawain or Ector had died.

She feels her heart skip a beat. If either of them died she would be devastated. Is this what her mother felt like when she waited for her husband to return home? Is this what her father felt like when his knights died in battle? This waiting and searching and worrying was pure agony—

"Arturia!"

She turns. Gawain comes running over to her. There is soot on his clothes and smeared on his face.

She can't help the smile that finds its way on her face. "Gawain!"

"I knew you were still alive somewhere!" He breathes a sigh of relief. "Look I know we should bury the dead but we gotta get out of here, Ector's still back at the house!"

Her heart sank. Ector's honor as a knight would prevent him from running from a battle he could win. If the Saxons swarmed him, he would have a hard time coming out of the fight alive. But she had faith in his skills and hoped he would be able to handle himself. "Where's your horse?"

Gawain shook his head. "Dead. Can't find another. They've either fled or the Saxons took them." It would take at least an hour to get back on foot. Maybe half that if they ran without stopping. It was doable but it definitely wouldn't be easy. Then again, anything that involved Ector was never easy.

"Can you run?"

* * *

They've been running nonstop and have just passed the halfway mark. Her hair is plastered to her face and her legs feel like cement. She feels like she just ran a marathon. Twice. Gawain doesn't seem to have fared any better. He's sweating buckets and looks about ready to collapse.

"I'm not gonna make it." He wheezes and leans over with his hands on his knees.

"Come _on!_ Keep walking dammit!" She doesn't dare stop. She knows the moment she does she won't get back up.

Gawain sits on the ground defeated. He can hardly breathe. "I can't... I need to take a break..."

"Come on Gawain! _Get up!"_

He shakes his head. "Give me five minutes. I'll be right behind you I swear! Just go! _Go!"_

She picks up the pace.

* * *

Her worst fears are realized when she sees the small column of smoke rising from the roof of the house. She calls out for the old knight as she nears the stable. No one is inside expect for two spooked horses still in their stalls. She continues to the main house.

The walls are still on fire when she pushes the door open. She steps over the bodies of three dead Saxons in the living room. Inside there are signs of a struggle everywhere. Utensils scattered, tables fallen over and missing limbs, nicks in the wood, and dozens of blood splatters on the floor. Parts of the roof has caved in, having succumbed to the intense heat. There is a layer of smoke still clinging to the ceiling. Small fires are still burning brightly along the beams where the wood is the most dry.

"Ector!" She calls.

No answer.

She walks through the trashed kitchen and steps into Ector's room. Aside from a knocked over desk and moderate fire damage the room seems untouched. She notices his sword is gone from the wall. Did Ector take it in haste? Or did the Saxons claim it as a trophy?

"Ector!" She calls again.

Still no answer.

The heat is getting unbearable. From the adrenaline filled fight in the village to the desperate run here, she has already pushed her body to the limit. Each step she takes is a miracle.

"Ector!" She chokes on a mouthful of smoke.

She pushes open the door to her and Gawain's room. It looks like a hurricane swept through. Blankets lie in shreds all over the floor, pillows scattered, tables smashed and splintered, books thrown everywhere, bed frames upturned, it's a complete mess. And in the middle of it all is Ector, the body of his lifeless opponent splayed out on top of him, a pool of red underneath.

"_Ector!"_

Gawain finds her huddled on the floor, kneeling in a puddle of blood, shaking their mentor's body, and calling his name over and over again. A dead Saxon lies next to her with Ector's sword still piercing the heart. A beam gives way somewhere and comes crashing down, a section of the house gets dragged down with it. The sound is deafening.

"Arturia!" He yells from the doorway. He pulls his shirt up over his mouth to lessen any smoke inhalation. They needed to get out before the house collapsed with them in it. He thinks he can hear her sobbing but that could just be his ears ringing. He calls to her again but she doesn't give any indication that she has heard him. He doesn't think she can.

"_Take one of the horses. Ride to town and warn the villagers!"_

"_But..." Gawain stammers. "Arturia's still out in the pastures..."_

"_It doesn't matter!" Ector yells. His face is a wild mix of fear and desperation. "We're the first line of defense for those people. Take the horse and go! I'll hold them off!"_

Somewhere in his heart he knew those would be Ector's last words to him. The Saxons had ambushed them and although Ector was a knight, he was but one man. Ector had tried to give Gawain some time to get away but it was futile. A second wave from the east hit the town mere minutes after he had reached it.

It hurt to see the old knight lying on the floor in his own blood.

"Arturia!" He screams. He hesitates for a moment more before rushing in. As he nears her he can see she is holding a piece of burnt wood. The image carved into it is charred and blackened but it is clearly the outline of a dragon. "Arturia!" He screams again. She hears him this time. She crushes the piece of wood in her hand, parts of it break off and are lost amidst the smoke, the rest crumbling into ash.

She grabs his hand and they run out, flames licking at their heels.

* * *

They watch the fire grow to engulf the small house and they stay until it has burnt itself out. The air is thick with the smell of charred wood. They don't bother trying to retrieve Ector's body. He died fighting. He died with honor and the conflagration would be his funeral pyre.

"There's nothing here for us now." Gawain says solemnly. "What should we do?" He looks to her. She wonders when she became the unofficial leader. With Ector gone, Gawain was now both the oldest and higher ranked swordsman.

"We can't stay here." She admits. They needed to get to a large city. But which? She wonders if they would find refuge in Tintagel. Her mother was from the city to the far west. But if they took the journey no one knew if Igraine would even be there. It had been a decade since she had last seen her mother. She crosses it out in her head. Then there was Avalon. Morgaine and Viviane would be there she knew for sure. But she had no idea where it was. The mysterious island was supposedly hidden in the mist across a large lake. It was said one needed an invitation to even cross the water.

She wonders if she should go back to Camelot. No one would recognize her, no one would vouch for her, no one would welcome her back with open arms, she'd just be another peasant displaced by war. But maybe this was going to work in her favor. She did tell Merlin she didn't want the crown. Multiple times even! This was her chance to make that wish come true. She could ride anywhere, make a new life for herself, and forget about the sword. When the thought crosses her mind she immediately shoots it down. The quick rejection surprises her.

When did she actually start _wanting_ to be King?

Maybe Gawain was right.

Maybe she had been lying to herself.

"Where should we go?" Gawain asks, his voice breaking at the end. The reality of the situation is hitting him and he begins to panic, the recent events too fast and too extreme for him to handle. Gawain has his head in his hands, trying to keep himself together. She tries to comfort him. Was she supposed to wait here for Merlin to magically appear and tell her what to do next? Was this part of the plan?

"Gawain I—" She is about to tell him she doesn't have a clue what to do next but he interrupts her.

"Don't say it! I don't want to hear you say you don't know." He swings up on his horse. "Just ride. Just go. Anywhere. I'll follow you. Wherever you go, wherever you choose, I'll follow."

She looks into his eyes and she knows she can't let him down. Merlin wasn't going to magically appear. Her mother wasn't coming. Viviane didn't even know she needed help. No, she'd have to do this on her own. She can't expect someone to hold her hand forever.

Gawain asked her for leadership and she would give it to him.

"Okay. Let's go."

* * *

Three years pass and the destruction that happened at Londinium have slowly been replaced by happier memories. She and Gawain have made new friends, found new mentors, have continued their training, and even recently been knighted.

There was nothing to be sad about.

They sit together on top of a grassy hill overlooking the country. The sky is bright and clear with not a cloud in sight. It is a perfect day.

Gawain shifts in his knight's armor. He is still not accustomed to the added weight and metallic sounds he makes every time he moves. She could sympathize. Even though they had been knighted months ago it would take some time before either of them would get used to walking around in a literal suit of metal. Never mind trying to fight properly in it.

She readjusts her pauldrons. Both of them had received some criticism before they were officially selected but Gawain's sheer intensity and Arturia's swordsmanship had put any skeptics to rest. She didn't know why but the jubilation that should have come after the ceremony wasn't there.

She felt nothing.

She felt exactly the same as she did the day before. Isn't this what she had always wanted? To be a knight?

"It happened over there." Gawain says suddenly. He's looking at the house where a cranky old knight spent ten years training them. Or what remains of it. Nature has taken residence now and all that remains are pieces of burnt wood that suggest a building once stood there.

"I miss him Arturia." Gawain sighs. "I called him all those names, made fun of him behind his back, ditched my chores to play around, and never really listened to him during his lectures... I just... He was such an asshole sometimes but he was like a father to me."

She thinks of Ector and agrees with Gawain completely. And she thinks of her real father, Uther. So many missed opportunities. So much time lost. If she had known Uther would die so soon she would have... She would have been a better person. She would have been a better daughter. There were so many regrets. She missed Ector and she missed Uther too. Both men had been her fathers in a sense.

"I miss him Arturia... I wish he was here to see me. Ector would have been so proud to see us in armor. He would have been so proud..." He laughs softly. "He would have lectured us on how to take care of it properly."

He would have. Uther would have been proud too. Her mother would have given her a banner to ride into battle with. Morgaine would be there as well, maybe give her a nice sheath to go with her new sword. And they would laugh and smile and celebrate. Afterwards Uther would sit her down, talk about knightly honor and dignity and other things.

But that would never happen. Her father was dead. Both her fathers. Her mother gone. Her sister out of reach.

It hit her like a train. All these years she had not shed a single tear. And she realized she missed them.

She missed her family.

She wished she could hit rewind and start life over. But that was impossible.

Gawain's voice is lighter this time. "Hey, remember that Sword in the Stone? I heard it's still there. Still stuck in the stone."

She looks across the land where she knows the sword is. It is quite a ways from here, beyond the horizon, but she knows it's there.

Arturia had also heard rumors about the sword. People said when the Saxons raided their town they stumbled upon it. Whoever gets this sword out of this stone is King of England? Well they thought it would be funny if a Saxon managed to do it. Many tried to pull the sword and when that failed they tried hauling away the stone with the sword still in it. When the stone didn't budge they tried breaking it with their weapons and tools. They spat on it, kicked it, burned it, cursed it, but to no avail. The stone didn't weather, the sword didn't chip, and so they left it alone.

"Do you ever wonder... Ever wonder what would happen if one of us had actually pulled the sword?" Gawain muses.

"Yes I have. Many times has the thought kept me up at night." She wants to say but doesn't.

They sit there for a long time and only the rustling of the wind through the grass and the chirping of birds cuts through the silence.

She remembers telling Merlin she didn't want to be King. It was because she was scared.

Everyone expected her to rule the country but she didn't think she could. Then Merlin had sent her away, far away from home, to train as an apprentice. How could a she lead a country if her mentor wouldn't even let her touch a sword? But she learned. She earned the right to train with him. She excelled. But that still didn't mean she would be a good King. Her life was one monotonous cycle of boredom. Weren't Kings supposed to be royal and regal and stately? People were supposed to kiss your feet and hang on your every word. The only thing hanging on her every word was a herd of old sheep.

Then a sword appeared and she had to breathe a sigh of relief. That sword couldn't be meant for her. It just couldn't. It was obviously some sort of test that anyone with the right criteria could pass. Maybe it was a test of strength or ingenuity. But thousands of people tried and failed.

When Merlin asked her again she told him the same thing, she didn't want to be King. It was because she was afraid. Then the Saxons came and people died. She saw the destruction, she saw the death, and she knew this was what the whole country would look like if someone didn't step up and do something.

She was still scared.

She was still afraid.

But that wasn't going to stop her anymore.

"Would you follow me?" She asks. "Would you bend your knee to me? Fight for me? Swear service to me until death or until I release you?"

She doesn't expect a reply and is surprised by his honest answer.

"I would." Gawain says without hesitation. "To be a knight by your side, I would be honored."

* * *

She marches through the grass leading up to the stone. There it sits, as it has ever been since the day it first appeared. The blade is still sharp, the hilt still golden, not a scratch or sign of wear anywhere.

Her armor seems to get heavier with each step closer to the sword and by the time she is close enough to reach out and grab it, she is completely out of breath. She doesn't know how long she is standing there, admiring its craftsmanship.

This is her destiny she understands now. This sword was meant for her. There would be no other. She could wait for years, she could wait for an eternity, but there would be no one else to pull the sword. She was meant to take the throne and lead this country to glory. The things that have happened to her were for a reason. Her father's death, her experience as an apprentice under Ector, the fire, the blood, the deathwere all for a reason. Her failures, her triumphs, her fall from royalty and rise from common peasant to knight were all for this moment.

Just as her sister had to follow the path set out for her so it is now her turn.

But still, she hesitates.

The words so intricately crafted on the hilt seem only to mock her.

_Whoever pulls out this sword in the stone_

_is the rightful King of England_

She hesitates until some unseen force from deep within compels her to take a step forward. She does. Something powerful and screaming from the depths of her soul tells her to grasp the handle. She does. A shiver travels up her arm and reverberates throughout her body when she makes contact with the sword. Like she has finally come home.

A hand lands on her wrist preventing her from moving any further.

"There's no going back once you take it." Merlin says softly. "You will no longer be human."

Becoming a King means no longer being human. She knows this. A King makes sacrifices for the good of the country. She knows this too. Lose a hundred men to save a thousand. Harden your heart to take the inevitable losses. Kill everything to protect everything. She knows this.

"Arturia... Consider your choice carefully." He cautions.

She doesn't face him, her hand still grasping the handle. She can hear the resignation in his voice. Strangely, it doesn't seem to bother her. She remembers who she is... She had never forgotten in the first place. Merlin doesn't matter. Nothing matters. She was born for this and she was ready.

"_Get out of my way."_ She growls and wrenches away from him. In one smooth movement she yanks the sword free from its resting place. The sky fills with light so brilliant she can feel her eyes burning behind her eyelids. She stands there, stunned, waiting for the spots to fade from her vision.

She turns to see the villagers on their knees. Gawain is there in front, head bowed and knee bent.

A sign of fealty. A sign of loyalty. An unmistakable sign that _she was King_.

And there would be no going back.

* * *

"_I became a King of Knights, but in a way... I never stopped being a shepherd. The sword was my crook and the people my sheep."_

* * *

She sits on the throne proudly, the very image of royalty. In her hands, the Sword of Victory, the Sword in the Stone, the very sword that made her King. All around her hang the banner of the Pendragon.

"They're here my Lord." Bedivere says to her left. She can feel the knight tense up beside her. She doesn't blame him for being nervous but as their King she cannot afford such luxuries.

The massive doors to the castle swing open. Lancelot runs in with wide eyes and a touch of panic. "We've done all we can! The preparations are complete!"

She nods. Her hands grip Caliburn a little bit harder. The metal gauntlets dig into her skin. Her armor feels hot and heavy but her face shows only determination.

Merlin stumbles into the room carrying an armful of trinkets and miscellaneous magical items. He drops a few things on his way over to her. "That armor fits you quite nicely Your Highness! Very regal! I'll have that pretty little thing in the kitchen bake you a pie when you get back... But only if you win!" He winks as if to say 'like you could ever lose' and walks out. She smiles knowingly. It was his way of wishing her good luck.

"Hey." She turns and relaxes at the familiar voice. Gawain steps up to her right, dressed in his knight's armor with a helmet tucked under one arm. He's smiling like he doesn't have a care in the world. "This is going to be my first real battle as a knight. Yours too. You ready?"

She rises and her knights gather around. She looks each of them in the face and sees the doubt, the hesitation, and the unease. But she can also see their resolve. They would follow her into battle and into the very depths of Hell itself. Most of all she sees their loyalty and she knows she cannot fail with them at her side.

She thrusts her sword into the air and cries,

"_Let us show them the meaning of fear!"_


End file.
